


behind the gun, i’ll make my final stand

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [18]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 18:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13487580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Nicole watches the way her hand curls protectively around the milk carton on her tray. “Tucker. That’s his name, right?” Nicole asks, pointing at the skinny kid with the big glasses.Waverly looks over to the other table slowly and then nods.Nicole keeps staring at Waverly, watching the way she keeps her head down and her arms close to her body. It’s the same way Nathan looked whenever Jimmy Byers came down to the Little League fields and gave Nathan a hard time. She looks at the empty slot on Waverly’s tray, where her juice would be, and then at Tucker’s tray as he sets it down on another table.





	behind the gun, i’ll make my final stand

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback Friday takes us all the way back to the fall of 1979; to that one time Nicole got angry, detention, and her very first cassette - in that order. 
> 
> Nicole (and Wynonna) are 8 and in the 3rd grade. Waverly is 7 and in the 2nd grade.
> 
> As per usual, thanks for Smurf for the continued reassurance.

**“Bad Company” Bad Company, 1974  
** _ Oh, I was born, six-gun in my hand. Behind the gun, I’ll make my final stand. That’s why they call me: bad company, and I can’t deny; bad company, ‘til the day I die. _ _   
_

Nicole makes a face as she pokes her plastic fork into the mystery meat on her lunch tray. She looks up to complain to Wynonna, and nearly gags. Wynonna shovels a second forkful into her mouth, chewing with her mouth open. 

“What?” Wynonna asks, some mystery meat falling out of her mouth and back onto her tray. 

Nicole shudders and pushes her tray around, twisting it until the slimy-looking apples are front of her.  _ At least I have these _ , she thinks to herself.  _ And the juice _ . She brightens at the thought of the juicebox. Maybe she can even convince Waverly to give hers up, too. She never drinks them.

Waverly sits down, tucking herself in between Nicole and the wall that the cafeteria table is pressed against. Nicole sits up a little, turning her attention to Waverly. 

“Hey, can I have your-” She stops herself. “What’s wrong?”

Waverly shifts away from her, putting her elbow on the table between them. “Nothing,” she says firmly.

Nicole narrows her eyes. Her mom has always told her that she’s good at  _ seeing _ people, and she can see the anger in Waverly’s mouth and the fear in her eyes. 

She hasn’t known Waverly a long time yet, but sometimes she thinks she’s going to know her for forever.

Nicole kicks Wynonna under the table.

Wynonna grunts, a chunk of mystery meat falling out of her mouth. 

Nicole raises her eyebrows and nods in Waverly’s direction. Wynonna frowns and shrugs, putting her head back down. Nicole sighs. 

“What’s wrong,” she asks Waverly again.

Waverly glares at her. “I said, nothing,” she repeats.

Nicole nods at Waverly’s tray. “Didn’t you get a juice?”

Waverly pauses for a second, looking down at her tray. “I drank it.”

Nicole frowns. “You drank it?”

“What are you, the drink police?” Waverly scowls. “I drank my juice. I  _ like _ juice.”

Wynonna looks up and rolls her eyes. 

“What?” Waverly asks.

“She doesn’t believe you,” Nicole translates. “Neither do I.”

Some other kids from Waverly’s second grade class walk by. Nicole knows Chrissy Nedley already, but it takes her a minute to come up with a name for the boy trailing behind the group, sneering in Nicole’s direction.

“Tucker,” she says out loud.

Waverly’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

Nicole watches the way her hand curls protectively around the milk carton on her tray. “That’s his name, right?” Nicole asks, pointing at the skinny kid with the big glasses.

Waverly looks over to the other table slowly and then nods.

Nicole keeps staring at Waverly, watching the way she keeps her head down and her arms close to her body. It’s the same way Nathan looked whenever Jimmy Byers came down to the Little League fields and gave Nathan a hard time. She looks at the empty slot on Waverly’s tray, where her juice would be, and then at Tucker’s tray as he sets it down on another table. 

“He has two juices,” she says.

Waverly shrugs, her eyes still locked on her tray.

“And you don’t have any.”

“Wow,” Waverly says slowly. “You can see things.”

Nicole scowls for a minute, ignoring the look Wynonna is giving her that says she should back off this. She touches her fingertips to Waverly’s elbow gently, ignoring the way she flinches under her hand. “Is he bothering you?”

Waverly throws her arm back, dislodging Nicole’s hand. “I’ll go get you another juice if you want it so bad.” She swings her leg around the bench, nearly kicking Nicole in the thigh, and marches across the lunchroom. Nicole watches her politely cut in line, smiling widely at Ms. Whitney, the lunch lady. Ms. Whitney looks up at Nicole, meeting her eyes, and then looks back at Waverly, smiling sweetly. Waverly takes the carton of juice, weaves her way through the cafeteria, and slams it down in front of Nicole. “Here. A juice.”

“But I-” Nicole snaps her mouth closed when Waverly glares at her. She ducks her head and opens the carton slowly. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

Something heavy  _ thuds _ down at the end of their table. Nicole’s tray slides a little. By the time she pulls it back in front of her, Tucker is moving closer, peering around Nicole to look at Waverly.

Wynonna looks up slowly, closing her mouth and narrowing her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Nicole asks, her shoulders straightening up.

She doesn’t like Tucker Gardner. She’s not in his grade, but they have recess at the same time, and he’s always hanging around; always trying to get Waverly to talk to him; always trailing after her. One time, he reached out to touch the braid in her hair and Nicole had bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed.

“You can’t have two juices,” Tucker says, his voice high-pitched and whiny.

Nicole looks down at his tray. “ _ You _ do.”

Tucker slides his tray a little further away. “ _ I _ can. I’m a Gardner.”

“I don’t care what you are,” Nicole mutters. She nudges her elbow in his direction. “Get gone.”

“Waverly doesn’t want me to leave,” he says, puffing his chest out.

Nicole looks at Waverly: her shoulders are curled in and she still hasn’t looked up. She’s digging her fingers into the end of Nicole’s t-shirt like she’s nervous - like that time she thought Curtis was going to tell Gus that  _ Waverly _ was the one who knocked over the paint cans in the driveway. Curtis had told Gus it was him, when he opened the door to his truck, but Waverly had still stretched out the hem of Nicole’s 1978 Louisiana Superdome concert t-shirt her dad got after he saw Van Halen, The Rolling Stones, and The Doobie Brothers.

She’s starting to wind her fingers into Nicole’s shirt now, the ‘79 Aerosmith Tour shirt, with the white front and the black sleeves that only go to Nicole’s elbows. 

“Yes, she does,” Nicole says confidently. “So scram.”

Tucker leans forward again, looking past Nicole. She shifts, turning her body so that she’s blocking Waverly. Tucker scoffs. “Whatever. But  _ next time _ , I’m telling if you get another juice,” he vows.

Nicole grinds her back teeth together. Tucker takes his time getting up, his eyes on Waverly the whole time. His glasses slip down off his nose, but he pushes them up and winks at Waverly, glaring when looks at Nicole.

“Does he do that a lot?” Nicole asks as soon as Tucker is sitting down at another table.

Waverly pushes her mystery meat around her tray. “Do what?”

Nicole sighs. “Steal your juice.”

Waverly shrugs.

Nicole reaches out, letting her hand rest on Waverly’s. “Does he do that a lot?” she asks again, her voice softer.

Waverly looks up through the curtain of her hair, pushing some of it behind her ear. She didn’t braid it today, so it’s long and wavy. It doesn’t stay behind her ear, too thick to, and she scowls, tossing it over her shoulder instead. “Not  _ all _ the time,” she murmurs.

Nicole looks at Wynonna.

Wynonna narrows her eyes, glancing at Nicole before looking back at Waverly.

Nicole nods her agreement. “I don’t believe you,” she says aloud.

Waverly’s head snaps up. “What do you mean, you don’t-” She stops when she looks at Wynonna, still staring at her. She sighs. “He doesn’t always steal my lunch.” She lowers her voice and murmurs something Nicole can’t hear.

Nicole shakes her head. “Say that again.”

Waverly sighs again. “I  _ said _ , sometimes he does other stuff.”

“Like what?” Wynonna asks, her voice low.

Waverly shrugs. “Like, push me out of line. Or pull my hair during spelling tests. He follows me around at recess and kicks small pebbles at me,” Waverly says, the words rushing out of her mouth. “He always takes my snack in class, and the other day, he broke the tips off of all of my pencils.”

“He does  _ what _ ?” Nicole asks. Her voice doesn’t sound like anything she’s ever heard before; she sounds like her mom did when she found out Nathan finally hit Jimmy Byers back.

“I can handle it,” Waverly says firmly. 

“I’m gonna handle his face,” Nicole mutters, a vow to herself.

Waverly sways into her side. “I can handle it,” she repeats.

Nicole scowls in Tucker’s direction, her hand clenched tight into a fist.

Mercedes Gardner sits down at their table, her elbow catching Nicole in the side. 

“What do you want?” Nicole asks, her voice hard.

“Be cool,” Mercedes says, rolling her eyes. “I’m just sitting here so I don’t have to sit with John Henry or those guys.”

Nicole twists, scanning the room for John Henry and his friends. She finds them in the back, at the very last table. It’s John Henry, Ambrose Fish, Levi Oritz, and Valdez. John Henry is excitedly showing off his new hat, and Valdez is peeling a fresh apple with a plastic knife. Valdez looks up, making eye contact with Nicole, but Nicole looks away quickly.

Mercedes reaches over, picking up Nicole’s fork and spearing an apple slice. She chews it carefully, making a face as she swallows it. “That’s so raunchy. How do you  _ eat _ that stuff?” she asks, pointing at Wynonna, still shoveling mystery meat into her mouth.

Wynonna ignores her.

Mercedes frowns. “Doesn’t she talk?”

Nicole scowls. Wynonna’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Of course she does,” Nicole growls. “She just doesn’t like to.”

Mercedes makes a face at her. “So who’re you? Her bodyguard?”

Nicole puffs her chest out. Curtis had taken her aside at the start of the school year. He had sat down on the top step of the McCreadys’ porch and asked her to sit down, too, patting the worn wood next to him. Nicole had picked at her thumbnail, ignoring her mom in her head telling her to stop. A large, warm hand covered hers.

“Nasty habit,” Curtis said kindly. “You girls are starting school next week.”

Nicole groaned. “Nathan had Ms. Victoria two years ago, and he said she gives a  _ lot _ of homework.”

Curtis smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be okay.” He paused, looking out over the lawn as the sun started to set on the long strands of grass. “You know, it’ll be the first time they go to school without Willa.”

Nicole nodded, her face serious. Last weekend, when she slept over, Wynonna had said the same thing. She said it quietly and under the covers, a secret thought: this was the last year she’d ever have the same teacher that Willa did. Her voice barely shook when she said  _ Willa _ , though, and she changed the subject quickly, talking about how they could probably convince Curtis to make his special pancakes in the morning.

“I don’t know what Ward did with the girls,” Curtis admitted. “I don’t know if there was a special first day of school routine, or if he took them out for ice cream when they got home. I don’t…” He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Nicole carefully patted his knee. “I think you’re doing a good job.”

Curtis peeked out from behind his fingers. “You think so?”

Nicole shrugged. “My dad is the best dad I know, and you do all the same stuff he does.”

Curtis snorted. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicole said. She picked at a fading scab on her knee. “They miss them,” she breathed out.

Curtis sighed again. “I’m sure they do. Losing someone like that… so quick.” He dropped his hand down on her shoulder and squeezed softly. “I hope you never have to know what that feels like.”

Nicole looked down, edging the tip of her black and yellow Puma Clyde sneakers against the step below her. She’s seen car crashes on the television before, and once, she watched Linda Doucette from the Sheriff’s Department almost back up into her dad’s 1972 Ford LTD 4-door. But none of that looked like what she overheard her dad reading in the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ the night she snuck downstairs and sat in the stairwell. She hadn’t understood most of it, but she remembered her mom muttering something about  _ those poor girls _ .

It had taken nearly all summer for Nicole to realize that the  _ poor girls _ were Wynonna and Waverly.

“Ward…” Curtis said, trailing off. “Ward tried. But those girls have been waiting for everyone to leave since the moment their mama took off out of town.” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m not sure why I’m talking to you about this, you’re just-”

“Wynonna is my best friend,” Nicole said quickly.

Curtis looked at her for a long minute. “I know she is,” he said softly. “And you’re hers.” He took a deep breath, his voice sounding normal again when he started talking. “I need you to keep them on track, okay? Wynonna is too quiet for her own good, and Waverly is too damn smart. They’re going to get in trouble without you.”  Curtis looked at her out of the side of his eye. “Think you’re up for it?”

Nicole paused.

“I’m only asking because I know you can take care of them,” Curtis continued. “And when they can’t take care of themselves, and when I’m not around, I want to know there’s someone there I can trust who can do the job.”

“Okay,” Nicole breathed out. She straightened up a little. “Yes, sir.”   
Curtis laughed and dropped a hand on top of her head, ruffling her hair. “Of course you do. Come on, let’s go see if we can get the girls and convince Gus it’s a burger night.”

“So what if I am?” she challenges, eyes narrowed at Mercedes. 

Mercedes shrugs. “So, whatever.”

Wynonna kicks her under the table. Nicole hisses, reaching down to rub at her leg. Waverly frowns softly at Wynonna, her hand resting on Nicole’s arm comfortingly.

“What?” she asks Wynonna.

Wynonna nods in Tucker’s direction.

Nicole nods, turning back to Mercedes. “She says to keep your little brother away from her sister.”

Mercedes looks over at Tucker, sitting at the same table as Chrissy Nedley, Samantha Baker, Stephanie Jones, Champ Hardy, and the York brothers. She rolls her eyes. “Please. I’m not in charge of him.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder where her sister Beth is sitting with the Odam twins. “That’s Beth’s job.”

Nicole looks at Wynonna and shrugs.

Wynonna narrows her eyes and shrugs a shoulder, picking up her fork again. She finishes the rest of the mystery meat in one go.

“Fine,” Nicole translates. “We’ll do it ourselves.”

Her hand drops to Waverly’s leg, squeezing it softly. She looks over her shoulder again, eyes narrowed as she takes in Tucker: his red turtleneck and jeans, the way his glasses keep slipping down his nose, how he keeps glancing over at Waverly while he sips his juice.

_ We’ll do it ourselves _ , she thinks to herself.  _ I’ll take care of it. _

 

-

Nicole is in the middle of defending The Knacks to Wynonna, just reaching the height of her argument on why  _ My Sharona _ is not a knockoff Beatles song, no matter what John Henry says, when she hears Waverly shout. She pushes off the bottom of the slide, mid-sentence, and steps onto the rubber bumper surrounding the playscape to get a better look over the playground.

It’s been nearly a week since Tucker stole Waverly’s juicebox at lunch, and Nicole has been hovering ever since, hanging around the 2nd grade classroom when the bell rings and making Waverly hang out with them at recess. This morning, Waverly had gotten out of Curtis’s truck and immediately turned on Nicole, jabbing her in the chest.

“ _ Stop _ following me around,” she hissed.

Nicole frowned, rubbing at the spot on her chest. “I’m just-”

Waverly stomped her red and white Adidas Top Tens hard against the sidewalk. “No,” she hissed. “Stop it. Chrissy asked me if I adopted an  _ Irish setter _ the other day.”

Nicole opened her mouth, then frowned. “What is that?”

Waverly shrugged. “Curtis told me it was a dog.”

“ _ A dog _ ,” Nicole repeated. “She called me a  _ dog _ ?”

“You’re chasing me around like one,” Waverly argued. “So stop dippin’ in my Kool-Aid.” She spun on her heel and marched into school. 

“What does  _ that _ mean?” Nicole asked miserably, tugging anxiously on the bill of the baseball hat she borrowed from Nathan.

Wynonna stepped up next to her and shouldered her gently. 

Nicole sighed. “Yeah, I don’t know either.”

When the lunch bell rang, Waverly left the 2nd grade classroom with Chrissy Nedley, Tucker trailing after them, and she barely looked at Nicole. In the cafeteria, Nicole had tried to flag Waverly down, but Waverly took her tray and sat down with Stephanie Jones and Samantha Baker, taking the seat right next to Champ Hardy.

Nicole had scowled, twisted her baseball hat backward, and hurried through her hot dog so she could get outside faster. She’s been at the slide ever since, glaring across the parking lot where she can see Chrissy showing Waverly how to use her brand new BeDazzler Blue Jean Machine. Wynonna is at the top of the slide, pushing wood chips down so they pile up against Nicole’s back. Every so often, she hums a part of a song Nicole kind of recognizes, but can’t put her finger on.

Waverly shouts and Nicole is standing up quickly, a shower of wood chips raining down into her sneakers. She moves quickly to the rubber bumper surrounding the playscape and squints her eyes against the afternoon sun. 

She thinks that she should be able to find Waverly easily. She wore a bright pink hat this morning, the same pink as the lights at the arcade her mom won’t let her go into. But Nicole can’t see the hat and she can’t see Waverly. She looks back over her shoulder at Wynonna and nods sharply, stepping out onto the paved parking lot that doubles as the other part of the playground.

She can hear Wynonna’s Dyna Kids hiking boots slapping the blacktop behind her as she starts moving towards where she thought she saw Waverly last.

Champ Hardy jumps into her path, holding a football in one hand.

“Joe Montana drops back!” he shouts, faking left. “He looks to O.J. Simpson,” he says, looking back towards Pete York. “He’s not open. He’s going to have to throw long to Freddie Solomon.” He pulls his arm back, looking to make a long throw to Kyle York, near the swings. 

Nicole knocks the ball out of his hand, but doesn’t watch the way it bounces around on the ground, going left while Champ goes right. She hears Wynonna snort, though. Pete York shouts something at her, but Nicole doesn’t hear it, eyes scanning the parking lot, her ears listening for anything that sounds like Waverly.

“ _ Give it back _ ,” she hears, somewhere behind the picnic tables.

Waverly’s voice is shrill. She sounds just like she does whenever Wynonna takes one of her toys or steals a bite of her dessert. Nicole twists on her heel, changing directions and heading towards the picnic tables.

Tucker Gardner is standing on one of the planks of wood that’s supposed to be a bench seat, his arm stretched high above his head. He’s holding Waverly’s hat.

Waverly jumps up but misses.

Tucker laughs, throwing his head back. His glasses slide down his nose when he looks back down at Waverly. “You’re too  _ little _ .”

“And you’re too  _ stupid _ ,” Nicole growls. “Give it back to her.”

Tucker holds the hat tight to his chest, looking down at Nicole. “No,” he says. “If she wants it back, she needs to get it herself.”

Waverly stomps her foot, the soft sole of her Adidas sneakers barely making sound against the blacktop. “I  _ tried _ .”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” Tucker says, turning his attention back to Waverly. “If you want it, come and get it,” he taunts. “Or, you can just tell everyone that I’m the raddest, and you can have it back.”

“ _ Or _ ,” Nicole says loudly. “You can give it back to her and I won’t  _ ream _ you.”

Tucker laughs again. “Look at  _ little _ Waverly. She can’t even get her own things back. She needs her  _ babysitter _ to get it for her,” he sneers. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m the same age as you!” Waverly shouts, jumping up again.

Tucker rolls his eyes.

“Give it back,” Nicole demands again.

“What are you?” Tucker asks. “The fuzz?” He laughs. “What a loser. This is why you’re so easy to pick on, you know,” he says to Waverly. “Because you’re a loser that’s friends with a loser.”

Nicole feels a rush of anger flare through her body. It starts in her chest and radiates out to the tips of her fingers and toes. She feels her lips pull back as she growls and lunges forward. Her fingers weave into the fabric of Tucker’s shirt, pulling him down off the bench. 

“Give it  _ back _ ,” she hisses, feeling his breath against her cheek. 

“Sit on it,” he spits. “It’s not  _ my _ fault she can’t keep anything.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Including her  _ parents _ .”

Someone behind Nicole gasps.

Nicole barely hears it over the roar in her ears, or the scream she lets loose as she pulls back her fist.

Her dad taught her how to throw a punch this summer.

_ That’s not true _ , she thinks. Her dad taught  _ Nathan _ how to throw a punch, but Nicole was outside with them, sitting in the grass near the driveway, eyeing her dad’s Panasonic Tech Series 1200 RQ-455S cassette player and slowly sliding closer to it.

“Now, make your hand into a fist,” her dad had said. “Put your thumb- No, on the outside.”

Nicole had switched her grip at the same time as Nathan.

“If you leave your thumb tucked inside your fingers like that, you’re going to break it,” he said. “Do you understand?”

Nathan nodded. Nicole looked down at her hand, clenched tight into a fist, and nodded, too.

“And straighten out that shirt, son,” her dad continued. “You want to look like a gentleman, even when you’re fighting.”

Nicole looked down at the Purgatory Little League shirt she had on, the one she got at Nathan’s last game. It was wrinkled and untucked. She looked back up at her dad. He always ironed his clothes, every morning.  _ Even his socks _ , she thought with a small giggle. He was only in a white shirt right now, but even that was tucked into his work pants. She lifted herself out of the grass and pushed the hem of her shirt down into the top of her jeans.

“So, then here’s what you want to do,” her dad continued. He walked Nathan through the right way to stand and using his other hand to block anyone trying to punch him back. 

That night, Nicole had stood in front of the mirror on the back of her closet door, glaring at her own reflection as she practiced throwing punches. The first one, she stood too close to the mirror and her knuckles cracked hard against the surface. She laid in bed, waiting for the sound of her dad coming up the stairs, to find out what the noise was all about, but when she finally got past the sound of her own heart beating loudly in her ears, she could hear her mom and dad arguing again.  _ They won’t even know I’m awake _ , she thought. So she rolled back out of bed, backed up a few steps from the mirror, and kept practicing until her arms ached.

She’s not thinking when she punches Tucker the first time. Her hand just kind of makes the right shape and her arm pulls back, and her knuckles land right against the flat part of Tucker’s jaw.

Someone screams - Nicole thinks it sounds like Chrissy.

“Fight!” Pete yells.

“They’re gonna brawl!” someone else shouts.

Tucker drops to the ground like that time Wynonna picked up a hot plate from The Patch and nearly burnt her hand. It fell, hard and fast, and shattered into three big chunks Curtis wouldn’t let anyone touch. Tucker doesn’t break, but his legs and arms go in different directions, and he looks like a squashed bug against the blacktop. No one touches him, either. No one rushes to pick him up or to kneel at his side.

For a second, Nicole is stunned. Her hand aches like it’s sunburned. There’s a roar of blood in her ears, and her heart is beating so wildly in her chest that she wonders if she’s actually standing centerstage at a Black Sabbath concert, and not the Purgatory Elementary playground.

Tucker groans and starts to roll over. Just like that, just as she catches sight of the red mark spreading across his face, Nicole’s mind catches up to her body, and she’s  _ angry _ .

She follows him, dropping knee-first into the dirt. She can feel the gravel and the dust sinking into the clean denim of her jeans, the ones she convinced her mom to iron for her this morning. Tucker screams and tries to turn onto his stomach, to wriggle away from her, but Nicole punches at him again. He brings his hands up over his face, trying to block each jab and cross.

“Get him!” Champ yells.

“Nicole!” Waverly shouts. “Stop it!”

A crowd is forming around them. Nicole can feel them pressing at her back; some of them cheering and some of them shouting for help. Someone grabs at her shoulders, tugging her bright blue Doors shirt hard enough for the fabric to stretch. 

“Nicole,” Waverly tries again. She tugs harder on Nicole’s shirt. “ _ Stop _ .”

Nicole pauses for just a second, to shrug Waverly’s hand off of her shoulder, and Tucker reaches up, smacking her hard across the cheek with an open hand. A rush of pain erupts across her face and her teeth ache.

“Nicole!”

The hand on her shirt is gone. She can hear Beth Gardner shouting for Ms. Victoria and the other recess monitor to hurry. She thinks she hears Samantha Baker cheering her on, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Wynonna leaning towards John Henry while he whispers something in her ear. Champ, Pete, and Kyle are all shoving people back, trying to keep them from breaking it up. Chrissy and Stephanie are both watching with wide eyes, their hands laced together tightly.

Tucker’s hand comes into view as he tries to hit her again, but she ducks, grabbing Waverly’s hat out of his other hand. She brings her other arm back and Tucker screams again. He blocks his face this time, but Nicole keeps trying; if she hits him hard enough, maybe the look on Waverly’s face - the  _ pain _ \- will go away.

Nicole doesn’t even hear Ms. Victoria shouting her name until she’s being picked up off of Tucker and lifted into the air. Coach Allenbach, Nathan’s football coach, is dragging her backwards across the pavement. She swings at him, catching him in the shoulder, and he drops her in surprise.

“Shit!” he hisses.

“Coach!” Ms. Victoria scolds.

Coach Allenbach rubs at his shoulder. “Kid hits like a freight train,” 

Nicole can feel the gravel biting into her knee when she hits the ground, but she ignores the flash of pain and tries to scramble back to her feet. Tucker is only a few feet away, rolling over and trying to get up.

“Nicole Haught!” Ms. Victoria yells again.

“ _ Nicole _ !” Wynonna yells.

Nicole’s entire body comes to a standstill. It takes a second for her lungs to start screaming, and then she exhales loudly, pushing her hair out of her face. She shoves Waverly’s hat down into her back pocket. No one else moves, staring at Wynonna instead.

“She speaks,” Mercedes says, breaking the silence. She turns to John Henry. “Did you know she speaks?” 

“We’re going to the principal’s office.  _ Immediately _ ,” Ms. Victoria says firmly. “Fighting on the playground is an  _ automatic _ detention.”

Nicole feels her shoulders start to slump, but she inhales deeply and straightens them up, narrowing her eyes and pushing her lips together. Her cheek stings where Tucker managed to land a flat palm, but she won’t be upset about it now.

“Detention?” Waverly asks, her voice wavering. “But she… She was just…” Waverly’s hands flutter in front of her body. “Tucker  _ started _ it.”

Wynonna looks up slowly, meeting Nicole’s eyes. 

Nicole shakes her head. 

“From what I witnessed,” Ms. Victoria says, a hard edge to her voice. “Ms. Haught attacked Mr. Gardner without provocation.”

“Bravo _ -what _ ?” Waverly asks, trying to step around Wynonna. 

Nicole shakes her head harder. “Wynonna, don’t.”

Wynonna shrugs a shoulder back at her before she edges Waverly back a meter, takes a few quick steps forward, and punches Tucker square in the mouth. 

“ _ Wynonna Earp _ !” Ms. Victoria shouts. She grabs Wynonna by the back of the shirt, pulling her backwards. “ _ Detention _ .”

Tucker rolls around on the pavement, crying. Beth breaks through the circle, dropping to her knees at her brother’s side.

Beth pulls Tucker into her lap. “What did those nasty girls do to you?”

Nicole growls and lunges forward again, but Coach Allenbach’s hand comes down hard on her shoulder and holds her in place.

“Don’t even try it,” he warns. “You’re in a lot of trouble as it is.”

Nicole struggles for another second, but eventually gives up, sighing when she realizes she can’t go anywhere. She sags in defeat, looking at Wynonna. 

Wynonna shrugs a shoulder, breaking Ms. Victoria’s hold on her shirt. She rolls her eyes at Nicole, gives Waverly a small smile, and marches towards the school building. She lifts one hand in the air, extending her middle finger.

Ms. Victoria gasps and chases after her, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly as she walks her towards the building. She looks over her shoulder. “Ms. Haught!” she shouts. “Move it!”

Coach Allenbach nudges her forward.

Nicole brushes her hands down the front of her jeans. Her hand aches a little, and she can feel it starting to swell. For a second, she wonders if her dad is going to ask her how she did, how she knew how to rock back on her heel and put all her weight behind her right fist. 

“Mercedes, get  _ over here _ ,” Beth hisses.

“Mighty fine job,” John Henry says, clapping her on the shoulder. 

Xavier Dolls looks at her for a long moment before nodding sharply. Mercedes winks in her direction, rolling her eyes dramatically before walking over to Beth and Tucker.

“You’re so  _ hit _ ,” Samantha Baker sighs dreamily.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Waverly says. She shoulders Samantha out of the way and grabs for Nicole’s chin, tipping her head down to look at her. “You’re so  _ stunned _ ,” she mutters.

Nicole sighs. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you’re in  _ trouble _ ,” Waverly says.

Nicole shrugs. “With who?”

Waverly tips her head back up, rubbing at a spot under Nicole’s chin. “Not me,” she says after a minute. “But probably your dad.”

Nicole reaches up and puts her hand over Waverly’s, squeezing her fingers softly. “But not you.”

Waverly rolls her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching in a smile. “You’re such a-”

“ _ Nicole _ ,” Ms. Victoria yells again. 

Nicole sighs and turns, listening to the sound of the gravel crunching under her Pumas as she marches across the playground towards the school. Ms. Victoria is standing at the side door, holding it open. She taps her foot impatiently.

Nicole is pretty sure she’s tapping out the beat to “Hot Child in the City,” if she listens hard enough. She can almost hear Nick Glider singing and James Herndon on the synth, while Craig Krampf matches Ms. Victoria’s rhythm. 

She sings it under her breath the entire walk down to the principal’s office and grins when Wynonna hums along.

 

-

Nicole spends the rest of the day in front of the principal’s office while they try to get a hold of her parents. Her chest is tight with panic the whole time. She tries to tell Principal Leblanc that her mom is working double shifts at the hospital and her dad is probably fishing.

He talked all last night at dinner about landing ‘a whale,’ and how it probably meant he would get a promotion. Nicole isn’t sure what fishing for whales has to do with the sales at Godeau, Lesard, and Picard Insurance, but Nicole knows her dad is good at his job, so he must be right. 

Nicole had seen the look on her mom’s face when her dad said that, though. Her dad noticed, too, and asked what the problem was. 

“This job got us that car of yours,” he muttered as he speared a carrot with his fork.

Nathan scowled down at his mashed potatoes. Nicole looked between her mom and her dad.

“Neil,” her mom warned.

“No, Joan,” her dad said loudly. “You loved my job when it got you your brand new car, right off the lot. You loved it when we went to Niagara Falls for the weekend. And now it’s a  _ problem _ ?” 

Her mom looked at Nicole quickly. Nicole’s head snapped down.

“I’m just worried a promotion means more traveling,” her mom said softly. “You’re gone nearly every week now.”

“That’s how I put food on the table, Joan,” her dad said, his jaw tight.

_ He won’t leave work for this _ , she thinks. He’d leave nearly anything  _ for _ work, but he won’t leave work for anything. 

She doesn’t say it out loud, though. Principal Leblanc would definitely make her mom leave her double shift and come pick her up. Nicole’s stomach twists at the thought of her mom coming into school, in her white uniform and her hat, her sneakers as white as a fresh undershirt from the package. Her face would be twisted into something like disappointment, and Nicole would rather hide under Principal Leblanc’s desk, next to his smelly feet, until she’s old enough for middle school.

Principal Leblanc sighs and tells her to go sit down out on the bench in front of his office. Wynonna is already there, swinging her legs back and forth. She slides over to make room for Nicole and they sit side by side until the last bell, Principal Leblanc’s secretary, Ms. Plante, watching them over the top of her glasses. 

She can hear Tucker whining in the nurse’s office, complaining to Beth about how he did nothing to deserve it; how he was  _ attacked _ for being a Gardner; how he would have to teach Nicole a lesson about keeping her hands to herself. 

Nicole’s hand twitches, forming a fist for a second before Wynonna’s fingers come down over it, squeezing softly. 

Ms. Plante clears her throat loudly and Wynonna pulls her hand away.

They sit like that for the next hour, Wynonna’s pinky finger just barely grazing against Nicole’s clenched fist.

Nicole feels like she can almost breathe. 

The last bell rings and Principal Leblanc comes out of his office, scrubbing his hand down his face wearily. “Eileen, can you walk the girls down to the detention room?”

Ms. Plante sighs loudly, but stands up. She crooks her finger in the their direction and doesn’t wait to see if they follow her, marching out of the office and down the fourth grade hallway. Nicole feels Wynonna’s hand brush against her own. The fourth graders seem like the linebackers Nathan has pictures of on his wall at home - all shoulders and sneers. The girls whisper behind their hands. 

This is John Henry’s grade, and Mercedes, too, but these other fourth graders feel different in a way Nicole can’t explain. She swallows heavily, her throat dry.

Ms. Plante pulls open the door just past the fourth grade classroom.

Mr. Smith, the art teacher, looks up from the desk he’s sitting at. Nicole doesn’t know him well - he’s the art teacher for every grade, and he moves between schools and always cancels their art class every other Tuesday. He waves them in distractedly, gesturing towards the sea of empty desks.

“Just… pick a seat and don’t bother me,” he says as soon as Ms. Plante closes the door. He lifts his feet up onto the desk in front of him and pulls his baseball cap low over his eyes.

Nicole picks a seat near the window, looking out over the playground. She hears Wynonna sit down next to her, pushing their desks closer together.

The yellow school bus is sitting in the parking lot, doors open. She watches Chrissy and Stephanie get on, Samantha trailing behind them. She sees Nathan get on, talking to a kid named Perry, who’s in his grade. 

Nicole should be on that bus, headed to The Patch. She likes to sit by the jukebox and watch as people feed it quarters and play their favorite songs. She likes the way it clicks and hums and how people don’t dress like the songs they pick sound.

Something taps against the window, startling her.

Waverly presses her forehead against the window and mouths  _ I’m sorry _ at her. 

Nicole shakes her head.  _ Don’t be sorry _ , she wants to say.  _ I’m sorry I didn’t turn him into dust _ , she tries to beam into Waverly’s mind.  _ I would hit anyone for you _ . 

The last thought makes her frown. 

She’s not sure why she thought it, but now that it’s there, she can’t get it to go away. She would punch  _ anybody _ for Waverly, she thinks. She would punch Tucker again. She would punch Champ or Pete or Kyle. She would even punch Bobo, if he was still calling Waverly ‘ _ his angel _ ’ in that creepy voice he does sometimes after he drinks too many of his coffees with the stuff he adds to it. Nicole doesn’t know what it is, but it smells like the same stuff her dad drinks on the weekends he’s home.

Waverly taps her nail against the glass, getting Nicole’s attention. She opens her mouth, but a horn beeps and she looks back over her shoulder, giving Nicole a sorry smile when she turns back around.

_ The bus _ , she mouths.

Nicole nods.

Waverly presses her hand against the glass for a second before turning and running towards the waiting bus.

Wynonna nudges her in the side.

Nicole jumps a little, turning and socking Wynonna in the arm.

Wynonna glares.

“Don’t even,” Nicole mutters.

Wynonna lifts an eyebrow expectantly.

“I don’t know what she wanted. She had to get the bus,” Nicole says.

The door opens loudly and someone steps into the doorway. Mr. Smith doesn’t move, his soft snores echoing against the empty walls of the art room.

“Valdez,” Nicole breathes out.

Valdez stops in front of Mr. Smith’s desk. She picks up a pen next to his sketchpad and looks it over. Nicole watches her nod and slide it into her pocket.

Nicole and Wynonna watch her move through the room as she picks a seat, eyes wide. Valdez has been in their class for as long as Nicole has been in school, but they’re not friends. She always sat in the back of their classes, kept to herself, and barely spoke to anyone. There was a rumor in first grade that she ran over a fifth grader who made fun of her pink 1976 Schwinn Competition Scrambler, and then stole his brand new 1977 Redline Proline for fun.

Wynonna was in her classes, too, but she doesn’t know much about her from before this summer. She still remembers that day she rode past the McCready house, and the way the screen door slammed and a girl -  _ Wynonna _ , she knew, but she couldn’t remember - had stormed out onto the porch, Waverly slipping out the door behind her. The Earps lived on the outskirts of town, everyone knew, and Wynonna and Willa were inseparable. Wynonna spent all of her time as Willa’s shadow, the two of them always together and away from everyone else. 

Valdez picks a seat near the very back and slides the pen she took from Mr. Smith out of her pocket. Nicole twists in her seat, watching as she uncaps it with her teeth. 

She looks at Wynonna with wide eyes. “She’s so disco.”

“Bitchin’,” Wynonna mumbles.

“Language,” Nicole scolds. “You know Gus doesn’t like it when you swear.”

Wynonna wrinkles her nose, her mouth twisting. “You know,” she mocks quietly.

A loud scratching noise cuts her off. They both turn in their seats, looking back at Valdez.

She’s hunched over the desk, her hand wrapped tight around the stolen pen, and she’s digging it into the desktop. She looks up slowly, meeting Nicole’s eyes. Her forehead is wrinkled and her eyebrows are low and her eyes are dark, like she’s daring Nicole to say something to her.

“Want me to write your name?” Valdez asks, her voice low. 

Nicole can barely hear her over Mr. Smith’s soft snores. She shakes her head quickly. “No. No, I’m cool.”

Valdez’s lips twitch in something that Nicole would call a smile on anyone else. “Then find something else to stare at, peeler.”

_ Peeler _ , Nicole mouths as she turns back around to Wynonna. 

Wynonna shrugs. “Better than ‘pig’.”

The door opens again, slower this time. The hinges creak and the door bounces softly against the wall. A hand reaches out, stopping it from closing again.

Mercedes slips into the art room, relaxing once she realizes Mr. Smith is asleep.

Nicole straightens up in her seat. She can see Wynonna slump down a little in hers. Valdez keeps scratching her pen across the top of the desk.

“ _ You _ have detention?” Nicole asks, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can stop them. 

Mercedes puts her hands up in the air. “You caught me.”

Nicole leans forward over her desk. “ _ Really _ ?”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “Psyche. As if  _ I _ would get detention.”

Nicole scowls. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re a Gardner.”

Mercedes’s eyes narrow for a second before she saunters closer, climbing up onto the desk in front of Nicole’s, the tips of her black and gold Puma Clyde sneakers hitting against Nicole’s desk when she kicks her feet. She looks down at Nicole’s shoes.

“I like your sneakers.”

Nicole shrugs. “Wynonna doesn’t.”

Wynonna shakes her head.

Mercedes shrugs. “So what’s shaking?” she asks.

Nicole shifts in her seat, leaning forward on her elbows with her best glare. It’s the one she tries to use on Nathan when he’s threatening to leave her behind, even though he promised her mom he’d let her tag along to his game. She doesn’t care anymore, because Wynonna and Waverly and Curtis are way cooler than Nathan and his friend Perry.

“What do you want?” she asks, straightforward. She tried to sound like her dad sounds when a client is giving him a hard time.

It must not work, because Mercedes just shrugs again. 

Nicole looks over at Wynonna. Wynonna nods in Mercedes’s direction, raising her eyebrows. Nicole takes a deep breath and nods sharply.

“Listen, if you’re going to try and beat me up for punching your brother,” Nicole says, hiding the shake in her voice behind its volume. “You should know that I can throw a punch, and Wynonna fights like Man-Thing.”

Mercedes wrinkles her nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s a character in the Marvel universe who-” Nicole shakes her head. “That’s not important. I don’t have time to teach you about it.” She narrows her eyes. “But one time, John Henry made fun of Wynonna’s Beatles shirt at the beginning of the school year and she cut up his Elvis poster. So… watch it.”

Mercedes’s eyes widen, head turning slowly as she looks at Wynonna. “That was  _ you _ ?”

Wynonna shrugs like it was no big deal; like John Henry didn’t hold a funeral for all the pieces of his poster in the corner of the playground.

Mercedes exhales slowly, impressed.

“Why’re you here?” Nicole asks again.

Mercedes sighs heavily. “Daddy picked up Beth and Tucker, but I didn’t want to ride with them.” She rolls her eyes. “Tucker is all drama-o-rama, all the time.”

“He deserved it,” Nicole says firmly, almost daring Mercedes to disagree with her.

“He likes Waverly,” Mercedes says.

Nicole pulls back, a bad taste in her mouth. “He  _ what _ ?”

Mercedes nods. “He told me. He likes Waverly. It’s why he’s mean to her.”

Nicole feels her mouth drop open slowly in disbelief. “Because he likes her?” She looks at Wynonna. “Because he  _ likes _ her?” She stands up suddenly, her desk almost falling over. She catches it, keeping it upright. “Nathan likes Wendy Pelletier, and he doesn’t make fun of her.”

“Wendy Pelletier,” Mercedes says slowly. “Your brother likes  _ her _ ?”

“Your brother likes Waverly?” Nicole asks. She shakes her head firmly. “No. When you like someone, you-you bring them flowers and play them their favorite songs, and-and.” She looks at Wynonna for help.

“He told me-”

“ _ No _ ,” Nicole spits. “You don’t pick on the people you like. You don’t...” She trails off, trying to remember all the things Waverly finally admitted Tucker had been doing to her. “You don’t steal their lunch or tug on their hair or-or threaten to cut their ponytail off.”

The metal leg of her desk scratches against the floor loudly. Mr. Smith keeps snoring. Valdez looks up.

“You don’t make fun of her parents,” Nicole continues, her teeth grinding together. Her stomach twists in anger. “You don’t break her pencils in class or draw on all her papers.” Nicole pushes forward, forcing Mercedes back. “You don’t play keepaway with their hats.”

Mercedes tries to slide back on the desk she’s sitting on.

She jabs her finger into Mercedes’s chest. “Pushing someone on the playground doesn’t mean you like them,” she hisses.

Mercedes rests her hand on Nicole’s. “I know that,” she says slowly.

Nicole exhales loudly, pushing her hair back. “Well. Okay.”

“I don’t even really like Tucker,” Mercedes admits. “He’s so spoiled.” 

Nicole sits down in her seat, calmly pulling her desk back into place. “I kind of want to punch him again.”

“Be my guest,” Mercedes says, shrugging. She opens the backpack she put down on the desk next to her and pulls out a pack of new playing cards. “You guys want to play?”

Nicole looks around the room: Mr. Smith is still snoozing and Valdez is still carving words into the desktop.

“I’m really good at Crazy 8’s,” she boasts. “And Old Maid. Nathan won’t even play me anymore.” She doesn’t add that it’s because he says he’s too old for baby games. “And I beat Waverly the other day,” she says out loud.

Wynonna shrugs. She doesn’t like card games that much, Nicole knows. She played them all the time with Willa, and her dad, Ward, was really good at poker. Nicole remembers Wynonna telling her a story once, long after they were supposed to be asleep and Gus shut the lights off, about a poker game her dad played where he lost his Colt Buntline Special, a gun he called Peacemaker.

“He almost lost the house, too,” Wynonna had whispered under the covers. “But Bobo said he would take just the gun and call it even.”

“Bobo who works in the kitchen,  _ Bobo _ ?” Nicole had asked. 

Wynonna had smiled in the glare that the Maglite Nicole borrowed from her dad threw out. “Totally.”

Mercedes shuffles the cards. “Do you know how to play Gin Rummy?”

Nicole pauses. “No,” she admits.

Wynonna shrugs again. She taps two fingers on the table, though.

Nicole looks at Mercedes again. “She says we’ll play.”

Mercedes starts to deal out cards, counting to seven. “How do you know what she’s thinking?” she asks.

Nicole frowns. “What?”

Mercedes tips her head in Wynonna’s direction. “How do you know what she’s thinking?”

Nicole shrugs. “I just do.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Mellow out,” Mercedes says. “I’m just asking.” She looks up and over at Valdez. “Do you want to play?”

“I only play for pink slips,” Valdez says flatly.

Mercedes blinks. 

Valdez sighs. “No.”

Mercedes shrugs. “Okay. So, Gin Rummy. There’s a draw pile and a discard pile. You can take from either of them when it’s your turn.”

“Are we making pairs?” Nicole asks, moving the cards in her hand into sets of two.

“Sort of,” Mercedes says slowly. “You’re making sequins.”

“Sequins?” Nicole looks at Wynonna, frowning. “Aren’t those the things Waverly wants to put on my backpack?”

“Sequins,” Mercedes says again. “Like, a two and three and four, all in hearts.”

“Sequ _ ences _ ,” Mr. Smith says loudly from the front of the room.

Nicole drops her cards.

He shifts in his chair, lifting his hat up and squinting at them with one eyes still closed. “A sequence is a what you’re talking about.” He lets his hat fall back over his face and he leans back further in his chair, the hinge squeaking dangerously.

“Sequences,” Mercedes repeats. “And groups.”

“Sets of the same,” Nicole sings to the tune of “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles. She glares at Mercedes and Wynonna. “What?” she asks, defensively. “It helps me remember math.” She jabs her finger in Wynonna’s direction. “It’s not easy for everyone.”

“You have to put down three cards at a time,” Mercedes continues to explain. “And if I put down three threes and you have the other one, you can put your three down.”

Nicole chews on her bottom lip as she tries to make sense of the rules.

“ _ Or _ ,” Mercedes says loudly before Nicole can ask a question. “If I put down a two and a three and a four of Hearts, and you have the five of Hearts, you can put that down, too.”

Nicole nods slowly. “I think I get it.”

“I’ll start,” Mercedes offers. “I’m going to pick up.” She takes the top card off of the draw pile and squints down at her hand. She slides the card she picked into her hand and puts an Ace of Clubs into the discard pile.

Nicole nudges Wynonna. “You go next,” she offers. It’s not because she’s being nice; she’s still trying to figure out what to do.

Wynonna picks up the Ace of Clubs and puts it into her hand only to put it down again with two other cards. She puts the Ace down with the King and Queen of Clubs. 

Nicole sits up a little. She pulls a card out of her hand and slams it down on the table. “Jack of Clubs,” she announces. “Right?” She looks up. “Right?”

“You have to pick up,” Mercedes reminds her.

Nicole feels her face flush. “Right.” She picks up from the draw pile and sticks the Five of Hearts into her hand.

Mercedes draws and discards without putting any cards down for points. Wynonna picks up the card Mercedes puts down, and adds it to two cards in her hand. 

Nicole scowls. “How do you only have one card left?”

Wynonna shrugs.

“I want that seven,” Nicole says, pointing to the seven of Diamonds, buried at the bottom of the discard pile.

Mercedes shrugs. “Take it. But you have to take everything else on top of it.”

Nicole’s eyes widen. “But then I’ll have, like, a hundred cards.”

“It’s the rules.”

Nicole scowls, but takes the seven and all the rest of the cards. She groups the seven with her seven of hearts and the seven of spades and puts them down on the desk in front of her. It’s her first set of points. She grins widely.

Wynonna reaches over, flattens her palm against the back of Nicole’s cards, and eases them closer to Nicole’s body. 

Nicole feels her face flush. “Did you see all my cards?”

Wynonna raises an eyebrow wordlessly. 

Mercedes picks up from the discard pile, two cards in her hand. 

“You’re cheating,” Wynonna says.

Mercedes jumps. “Jesus, I keep forgetting you can do that.”

Wynonna makes a face. “What?”

“Speak,” Mercedes says. She narrows her eyes. “I didn’t know you spoke.”

“I talk all the time,” Wynonna says, her voice hard.

Nicole slides her foot along the floor, bumping it against Wynonna’s reassuringly. 

Mercedes shrugs. “I don’t hear it much,” she says. “Why don’t you talk?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Wynonna fires back.

“Why don’t you finish your turn?” Nicole interrupts, nodding at Mercedes.

Mercedes sighs dramatically and puts the second card she took at the bottom of the draw pile. “Happy?”

Wynonna narrows her eyes, but there’s a small smile in the corner of her mouth - a small one that Nicole recognizes as her trying to be cool and not give anything away.  _ She likes Mercedes _ , Nicole thinks.  _ She thinks Mercedes is funny _ . 

Wynonna draws a card from the pile and grins. She pulls three cards from her hand and lays them down, the King, Queen, and Jack of Spades. She drops a seven of hearts into the discard pile.

“Gin,” she sings.

Nicole snorts and drops the cards in her hand onto the desk. 

Mercedes’s mouth drops opens. “You knew how to play?”

Wynonna shrugs. “My dad showed me when I was, like,  _ four _ .”

“You cheated!” Mercedes accuses. 

“She hustled you,” Valdez corrects from behind them.

They all turn to stare at Valdez for a second before turning back to their game. Mercedes glares at her for a minute before she scoops up all of the discard pile, straightening out of the cards. “I want a rematch. Right now.”

A bell rings, sharp and short at the same as the door opens. Ms. Plante sticks her head into the room, scowling at Mr. Smith before her eyes find Nicole, Wynonna, and Mercedes playing cards.

“Ms. Gardner, what are you doing here?” She shakes her head. “I need to call your father. Ms. Haught and Ms. Earp, Curtis McCready is on his way to pick you up. Ms. Valdez,” she calls across the room. “You were given permission to ride your bicycle home.” She crooks her finger in Mercedes direction. “Come with me, Ms. Gardner.”

Mercedes gets up with a sigh, shoving the playing cards into her backpack. “Rematch,” she repeats. “Tomorrow.”

Nicole thinks that she shakes her head, but she’s not sure if she does. Her stomach plummets at the mention of Curtis’s name.

One look at Wynonna’s face tells her Wynonna’s stomach is doing the same.   
  


-

Curtis isn’t smiling.

It’s the first thing Nicole notices when she pushes out of the school building, Wynonna dragging her feet besides her. The sun hits her in the eyes, reflecting off of her bike, parked in the rack near the playground.

_ Curtis isn’t smiling _ , she thinks.

“He’s not smiling,” she says out loud.

Valdez trails out of the building behind them, headed to the bike rack. Nicole pulls Nathan’s old 1977 Pro Foiler he gave her when he went to the city with their dad for his birthday and got a new one, 1978 Huffy Thunder Road, off the rack and backs it up a few meters so Wynonna can get to her 1977 Mongoose Motomag.

Nicole watches Valdez pull the stick out of the spokes of her back wheel, ‘unlocking’ it from the rack. She’s riding a 1977 Redline Proline. For a second, Nicole’s mouth goes dry.  _ Maybe that story was true _ , she thinks. Maybe Valdez really did kill a fifth grader and take his bicycle. Valdez nods at them as she walks by, mounting her bicycle and pushing off the paved playground easily. She pedals past Curtis, walking towards them.

She lowers her voice as Wynonna pulls her Motomag out of the rack. “He’s not smiling _. _ ”

Curtis always has a smile on. He smiles when he’s gardening and he smiles when he’s driving his 1975 cherry red Ford F-150. He smiles when the Eagles come on and he smiles even when they sing “Desperado.” He smiles when Gus yells at him and he smiles when he’s moving around the kitchen making breakfast and pouring coffee. He smiles when Bobo messes up and order and he smiles when Sheriff Nedley, who has the big moustache, and Shorty, who owns the arcade, and Mr. Bustillos, who runs the garage, sit at the counter on Sundays and they all talk about Purgatory.

He’s not smiling now.

“Come put those bikes in the truck,” he says, his voice low, but still Curtis-soft. He turns and walks back towards his Ford.

Nicole and Wynonna walk their bikes slowly across the blacktop, the spokes going  _ tick tick tick _ as the wheels spin. Curtis already has the tailgate down, and when they get closer, he reaches out impatiently, lifting Wynonna’s Motomag up and laying it down. He gestures for Nicole’s Foiler, nearly catching the front wheel in the face as he sets it down in the bed of the truck.

Nicole pushes at the small of Wynonna’s back, nudging her around the taillight and along the side of the truck. The tailgate slams shut and Wynonna jumps a little under Nicole’s hand.

“I’ll sit in the middle,” she says quickly, slipping around Wynonna, their shoulders touching, and grabbing the door handle first. It’s hard to tug, heavier than her, but as Curtis comes towards them to open the door like he always does, Nicole feels Wynonna stiffen against her shoulder, and she pulls. “Got it,” she tells Curtis. “I got it.”

He stops at the wheel well, his hand resting on the bed, and stares at them for a moment. Finally, he nods, and turns around, heading back behind the truck, and towards the driver’s side. 

“I got it,” she tells Wynonna again, her hand on Wynonna’s wrist.

Wynonna swallows and nods, letting Nicole get into the truck before she climbs up after her, pulling the door closed with both hands.

Curtis turns his truck on, but there’s no music playing. 

Nicole shifts restlessly in the middle seat, knocking her knee against Wynonna’s. She spares a glance at Wynonna out of the corner of her eye, but Wynonna is staring straight ahead, eyes unblinking, her hand clenched tightly into a fist and pressed against her thigh.

Wynonna gets in trouble a lot - especially with Gus. Curtis said they just “ _ are too much alike to get on like good old buddies, _ ” and that Wynonna just needed to learn how to be a little nicer. 

He said Gus did, too, but only after Gus had gone back inside the house with her ruined flowers. Curtis had winked at Nicole as he said it, lifting Wynonna high off the bottom step and spinning her in a circle before he put her back down on the grass.

“You girls go out and do something, okay?”

Curtis inhales deeply, his hand slipping off the key in the ignition. “Well,” he starts, his voice booming in the silence of the cab. “Let me get a look at you.”

Nicole looks up, surprised. “What?”

Curtis lets out a low whistle. “Jeez, girl. That boy got you.” He reaches out slowly, pressing two fingers to the bottom of Nicole’s chin. He tips her head back a little, wincing. His eyes move past her face to Wynonna. “Did he get you?”

Wynonna shakes her head wordlessly.

Curtis sighs, his arm reaching past Nicole as he rests his hand on Wynonna’s knee. “Honey, I’m not mad.”

Something in Wynonna shifts a little. Her shoulders relax, but Nicole can still the tension where her arm touch’s Wynonna’s. Her eyes soften - the hard, dark look they had a second ago is starting to fade away. Her lips part, her mouth hanging open a little.

“You-you’re not?” she asks.

Curtis sighs again. “Of course I’m not.” He runs his hand along her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “What you did - what  _ both  _ of you did was very brave. It was very stupid, but it was very,  _ very  _ brave.”

Nicole ducks her head.

Curtis lifts it back up again. “You’ll need to put ice on this later,” he says casually. “And it’ll definitely bruise. Did he punch you?”

Nicole shakes her head. “He smacked me.”

Curtis snorts. “With what? A ruler?”

“His hand,” Nicole says, confused.

“I know, I was just-” Curtis sighs. “Never mind. Did the nurse give you ice?”

Nicole shakes her head. “She was dealing with Tucker.”

Curtis’s eyes harden. “I see,” he says, his voice low and hard. 

It reminds Nicole of the time her dad found out that Nathan threw a baseball through the kitchen window by accident. 

“Well, add that to the list of things I’ll be calling the school about tomorrow,” he continues, muttering. He raises his voice. “So Principal Leblanc told me what happened, but why don’t you two tell me your side of it?”

Nicole shrugs a shoulder.

Wynonna nudges her. “Tell him,” she whispers.

Curtis nods encouragingly.

Nicole sighs. “Tucker was making fun of Waverly and he wouldn’t stop.” Her voice goes high. “I gave him lots of chances to stop and he-he  _ wouldn’t. _ ” Her stomach tightens uncomfortably and her hand squeezes tight into a fist. Her fingernails cut into her palm. 

“Tell him what Tucker  _ said _ ,” Wynonna growls. 

Curtis’s eyes narrow. “What did that boy say?”

Nicole looks down, picking at the skin near her thumb. Curtis’s large hand comes down on her own.

“Don’t do that,” he says gently when she looks up. He ducks his head to meet her eyes, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “That’s a terrible habit to have, girl.” He smooths his finger against her thumb. “If the girls catch you doing that, they’re going to tell you the same thing. Right?” he asks, looking at Wynonna over Nicole’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Wynonna breathes out. “Waverly, too.”

“Now,” Curtis continues. “What did he say?”

Nicole takes a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “He took her hat and he told her she was always losing things, including…” She trails off. Curtis nods encouragingly, squeezing her hand gently. “Including her parents,” Nicole finishes in a whisper.

Curtis stares at her for a long second. “He said  _ what _ ?”

Nicole shakes her head firmly. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Of course, of course,” Curtis breathes out. He covers his face with one hand, scrubbing it across his cheeks and down over his mouth. When he looks back up, his eyes are hard and cold in a way that makes Nicole lean back. “I’m going to call the school,” he says, an edge to his voice that Nicole has never heard before. “And then when they don’t do anything, I’m going to go down to that pit Gardner calls a realtor’s office, and I’m going to-”

“ _ Uncle Curtis _ ,” Wynonna shouts.

Curtis looks up, his eyes wide. His hand is on the steering wheel, gripping it so hard that his knuckles are white. He lets go instantly, sitting back against his seat. “I’m sorry,” he finally manages. “I… I’m-”

Nicole looks at Wynonna helplessly, then reaches over and pats Curtis gently on the knee. “It’s okay. I’m real upset, too.”

Curtis snorts softly. “I think we all know that.” He looks past her at Wynonna. “Principal Leblanc said he’s never seen Ms. Victoria so  _ incensed _ about anything in the whole twelve years she’s been working here. Said she was particularly upset about Wynonna punching Tucker after she already broke up the fight.”

Wynonna shrugs. “I wasn’t going to let Nicole have all the fun,” she says.

Curtis rolls his eyes and leans past Nicole, kissing Wynonna on the top of the head. He pauses in front of Nicole, his lips brushing against her forehead. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs.

Nicole ducks her head and wipes at her forehead, embrassed. She tries to remember the last time her dad kissed her on the forehead, but she can’t. He doesn’t tuck her in at night anymore, and he doesn’t stay through breakfast to kiss them goodbye when she and Nathan leave for school. He always leaves for his business trips before she even gets up in the morning, and he gets back after she’s gone to bed.

_ He probably kisses me when I’m sleeping and I just don’t know it _ , she thinks. She nods.  _ Yeah, that’s it _ . 

Curtis slaps his hand down gently on the steering wheel. “Well. I’ve got to go to the mall and get something for The Patch. You girls are just going to have to come along and stop at the record store with me.”

Wynonna sits up, eyes wide. “The record store?”

Nicole’s leg bounces. “Really?”

Curtis grins. “Punch a Gardner, win a prize,” he says. He immediately points his finger in their direction. “Don’t ever tell Gus I said that.”

Wynonna mimes a zipper across her mouth and elbows Nicole until she does the same. 

Curtis turns the music up, The Doors right in the middle of “Riders on the Storm” and Jim Morrison is whispering about killers on the road. Curtis sings along, dropping his voice to a low pitch and making Wynonna giggle.

They listen to all of Curtis’s favorite songs on their ride: “Peaceful, Easy Feeling” by The Eagles, “Running on Empty” by Jackson Browne, “Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen, and “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor. Even Wynonna sings along. They pull into the mall parking lot singing at the top of their lungs, straining against their seatbelts.

“ _ I've seen fire and I've seen rain _ ,” James Taylor croons. “ _ I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end, I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. _ ”

Curtis shrugs. “I wanted it to end on a happy note,” he explains. He gets out of the truck and goes around the front, pulling open the passenger door. “Quick stop at Sears and we’re good to go.”

They don’t go into Sears with Curtis; he gives them a few bills and sends them to the food court to get a soda and a pretzel that they split. 

“Who taught you how to throw a punch?” Wynonna asks, her mouth full.

“My dad,” Nicole says proudly. She doesn’t tell Wynonna that her dad was teaching  _ Nathan _ and not her; she doesn’t want to say it, even though they swore they would never lie to each other. They even spit in their hands and shook on it. Still, admitting that her dad didn’t want to teach her - that he didn’t even offer and he told her not to touch his boombox, either - stings a little. She takes another bite of her pretzel.

Curtis finds them and lets them ride the escalator to the second floor of the mall, leading them past the jewelry store and stopping at the last store on the lane.

There’s a big neon sign above the garage-style doors that reads “Black & Decker” in flashing blue and pink. There’s giant posters in the window - The Who and The Eagles and The Rolling Stones and KISS and Black Sabbath - with Christmas lights around them. There’s boomboxes on one side of the room and tables full of cassette tapes that gleam in the bright fluorescent lighting. It smells like the cleaning solution Nicole’s mom uses to wash the windows. 

“Wow,” Nicole breathes out.

Curtis drops his hand down on her shoulder. “Never gets old, does it?”

Nicole shrugs a shoulder, still looking up. “I’ve never been here before.”

Curtis smiles slowly. “Well then, girl. Go. Fall in love.”

Her dad has cassette tapes. He has a big stereo in their living room and bookshelves on either side of it with cassettes that fill the whole thing. Nicole and Nathan can’t touch them, Dad’s rules. 

“They’re special,” her dad said once when she tried to take one off the shelf. “They need to be treated with care and respect, okay? So we don’t touch them.”

Nicole frowned. “But Curtis-”

“Curtis?” her dad asks, rubbing his forehead wearily. “Who is Curtis?”

Nicole sighed. “Wynonna and Waverly’s uncle.”

“Wynonna…” her dad repeated. “Oh.  _ Oh _ .” His face darkened. “The little girl who spilled her orange juice all over my contract paperwork.”

Nicole felt her face flush. “Yeah,” she mumbled.

“Listen, Princess,” her dad said. “Just don’t touch the cassettes, okay? And leave Daddy alone, would you? I’ve got a migraine coming and I just can’t argue with you right now.”

“I don’t like being called that,” Nicole grumbled as her dad left the living room. She waited until he stepped out of the room and then she reached over, knocking one out of place. 

Wynonna grabs Nicole by the hand and drags her across the threshold. The carpet feels different under her feet, like clouds or that really soft rug her dad’s mom has at her house. Nicole has only been there once, but she remembers exactly how it feels: soft and  _ good _ , like eating a fluffernutter sandwich. 

“You can each get one,” Curtis calls after them, stopping at the counter to talk to the salesperson. They shake hands like they know each other. 

_ They probably do _ , Nicole thinks. She knows that Curtis comes out to the mall almost once a week to pick up parts he orders at Sears, and probably to come here, to Black & Decker. He has new tapes every time Nicole goes over the McCready house.  _ It makes sense _ . 

Wynonna’s eyes scan the tables of cassette tapes purposefully. “I know what I want,” she tells Nicole.

Nicole follows her, scanning the room as much as she can with Wynonna pulling at her. Something on the back wall catches her eye, and she freezes, her arm sliding out of Wynonna’s hand as she stops moving to get a better look.

She feels her breath catch for a second. “It’s The Knack,” she breathes out.

Wynonna groans. “Not that song,” she complains. She shakes her head. “I’m going to find what I want.” She keeps moving through the aisles, leaving Nicole behind.

There, on the back shelf, is The Knack, right between KISS and Krokus. They have  _ Get The Knack _ , their first album. Nicole recognizes Prescott Niles’s hair and their black vests. Her dad has it at home, on his shelf with all the other cassettes Nicole can’t touch. Slowly, she reaches out. The plastic is cool against her fingertips. Her skin burns as she wraps it around the tape and pulls it out of its spot on the shelf, holding it in her hands.

Curtis had the record man come down and put  _ Get The Knack  _ on the jukebox. Waverly likes to pick the tape and play the first song on side two - “My Sharona” - just to drive Wynonna crazy. Ever since she confused “Sharona” with “Wynonna,” she always sings her version.

“Do do do do,” Waverly sang, matching the instrumental. “My  _ Wynonna _ .”

Wynonna paused, frowning. “That’s not the words.”

Waverly stopped singing, putting her hands on her hips. “Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not,” Wynonna argued. “It’s ‘my  _ Sharona _ ’.”

Waverly shook her head. “You’re  _ my _ Wynonna.”

“I  _ know  _ I’m your-” Wynonna sighed. “The  _ song _ goes, ‘my-’”

“Wynonna,” Waverly insisted.

Wynonna looked at Nicole, but Nicole shrugged. 

“It kind of fits,” she admitted. 

Wynonna growled softly. “But that’s  _ not _ the words.”

Waverly shrugged and picked up a jelly container, stacking it on top of the ones she’d been making into a tower. “It’s the way I want to sing it. Nicole likes my version, too, doesn’t she?”

Nicole shrugged again. “I like them both.”

Nicole’s body jerks as Wynonna grabs her again. 

“You got one?” Wynonna doesn’t wait for an answer. “Good.” She looks down at the tape and stops quickly. “Not that one.”

“I like this one,” Nicole says defensively.

Wynonna groans and rolls her eyes. “ _ Not _ The Knacks.”

Nicole grins. “Yes, The Knacks.”

Wynonna sweeps her arm out dramatically. “There’s a  _ whole _ store. You-you can get  _ anything _ .”

_ I can get anything _ , Nicole repeats to herself. She straightens up, shaking her head softly.  _ I can’t get anything _ .

“You can get  _ David Bowie _ , if you really want to,” Wynonna tempts. “I know you like that ‘Heroes’ song.” When Nicole doesn’t move, Wynonna stomps her foot like Waverly and throws her head back. “Please, please,  _ please _ don’t get that tape. You’re going to give it to Waverly, and she’s going to play it  _ all the time _ ,” Wynonna drags out, her voice low and agonizing.

Nicole frowns. “No, I won’t.”

“You gave her the rest of your Orange Crush the other day,” Wynonna reminds her. “Who knows what else you’ll be willing to give up.”

“She was thirsty,” Nicole says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “She knows how to work the soda gun.”

Nicole opens her mouth, but Curtis calls their names and Wynonna grabs her by the arm again, dragging her to the counter.

“I want this one,” Wynonna says firmly, thrusting a tape into Curtis’s hand.

“ _ Bad Company _ ,” Curtis reads. He laughs a little, his hand settling on Wynonna’s shoulder. She sees his fingers flex, like he’s squeezing softly. He looks up at Nicole, his smile stretching across his face. “I don’t know, kid. I think you’ve got some great company.”

“I want this one,” Wynonna repeats.

Curtis laughs again. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Wynonna scowls. “You said I could pick one out.”

Curtis nods slowly. “Well, right, but-”

“No buts,” Wynonna says quickly. “That’s the one I want.”

“Gus wouldn’t like this one,” Curtis says.

Wynonna shrugs. “Gus isn’t here.”

Curtis snorts. “Where did you even hear about Bad Company?”

Wynonna lifts her shoulder up and down again. “School.”

_ John Henry _ , Nicole guesses. Wynonna doesn’t talk to anyone - except Nicole, and sometimes Waverly, when they’re alone - but she listens a lot, and she likes to listen to John Henry. He’ll talk about anything, too. Nicole doesn’t mind when he sits with them at lunch. He talks about bicycles and music and how when he’s older, he’s going to buy a certified cowboy hat.

Wynonna had kicked her under the table when he said that.

“We have cowboys in Purgatory?” Nicole asked.

John Henry’s eyes sparkled. “Not yet.”

Curtis shakes his head again “I’m not sure,” he says slowly.

Wynonna pushes out her lower lip, kicking at the carpet with the top of her shoe. 

“Not the pout,” Curtis groans. He’s smiling, though, and Nicole already knows he’s going to buy it for her. “ _ Fine _ ,” he huffs dramatically. “But we’re going to set ground rules,” he adds firmly.

Wynonna nods her head quickly. “Anything.”

“Gus can’t find out about it,” Curtis starts. “And you can only listen to it when you’re with me.”

“You can keep it in your truck,” Wynonna offers. “We can listen on the way to school.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Waverly isn’t going to listen to this,” he says. “Not until she’s older.”

Nicole makes a face. “Waverly likes  _ The Beatles _ ,” she says flatly.

Curtis smiles at her, snorting. “What’s wrong with The Beatles?”

Nicole scowls. “They don’t make sense,” she argues. She shrugs, though. “But Waverly helped me come up with a song for my math, and it sounds just like The Beatles.”

“That’s my baby girl,” Curtis says. He drops a hand on top of Wynonna’s head. “Why don’t we keep it in my truck and listen to it when we drive out to the city? For special occasions, and stuff. That sound good?”

“That sounds bitchin’,” Wynonna agrees.

“Language,” Nicole and Curtis scold at the same time. 

Curtis looks at Nicole. “What about you? What have you got?”

Nicole looks down at the tape in her hand and shrugs. “Nothing,” she says.

Curtis makes a ‘gimme’ gesture with his hand. “Let me see it.”

Nicole shakes her head. “I don’t need one.”

“No one ever needs a cassette, Gus says. Well, I say, we all deserve one.” Curtis looks at the guy behind the counter and they both laugh. Nicole doesn’t get the joke.

_ “ _ If you don’t have any money, don’t expect things to be bought for you,” her dad had said once, when she wanted a few bills to go play a game at the Purgatory Fair. His coworker, Mr. Richards, had opened his wallet to give her some money, but her dad stopped him. “That’s Mr. Richards’s money, Nicole. Not yours.” He had gotten down on his knee and looked her in the eye. “Now, say thank you, but no thank you.”

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Nicole said, her cheeks burning red.

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Nicole tells Curtis politely. “It’s not my money, and I’m going to go put it back.”

She turns, scanning the posters on the wall to find the one of a guy named James Brown - it was right above where she got the tape - but the guy on the other side of the counter tells her he’ll put it away later. She hands it to him and lets Wynonna grab her by the arm, tugging her towards the display of brand new Panasonic 5500’s - all shiny chrome and  _ bass, treble _ , and  _ balance  _ knobs that Nicole doesn’t understand, but swears she’ll learn.

“I’m going to get one of those one day,” she whispers to Wynonna.

Wynonna grins. “We can split it. And we’ll share it.” Her eyes sparkle as a plan forms in her head. “We can keep it on weeknights at our houses, and we’ll switch every other night.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “As if.”

“Come on, girls,” Curtis says loudly, his voice booming. He yells goodbye to the guy behind the counter and rests his hand on Nicole’s head for a second as she darts around him, trying to catch up to Wynonna.

On the ride home, Curtis tells them about the new record store opening in Purgatory, a few doors down from The Patch. “Mattie Perley, we went to Purgatory High together. She’s opening the place up sometime next month.”

Nicole feels the excitement building in her chest.  _ A record store _ , she thinks.  _ In Purgatory _ . She can ride her bike there and maybe on a weekend when her dad is home, they can go together and pick out their favorite tapes.  _ Maybe _ , she thinks. Maybe Mattie will have a boombox up front where she can listen to a tape before she buys it, and her dad will sneak a tape into the house for her, like KISS or Aerosmith.

Curtis lets Wynonna break into her copy of  _ Bad Company, _ and Wynonna opens the new plastic like it’s made of glass, sliding the tape out of the case and into the deck. 

“Well, I take whatever I want,” Paul Rodgers sings. “And baby, I want you. You give me something I need. Now tell me I got something for you. Come on, come on, come on and do it. Come on and do what you do.”

Curtis sings along to every word. Nicole taps her fingers against her thigh to the beat. Wynonna sits in the passenger seat and sways, a smile on her face.

They pull up to The Patch and Curtis puts the truck in park. He presses stop on the tape deck, popping the cassette out and sliding it into the case. He reaches across Nicole and opens his glove compartment, putting the case in and closing it. 

“Our secret,” he repeats.

Wynonna nods seriously. “Our secret.”

Curtis smiles. “Now, get going. Gus is going to ask if I read you the riot act.”

Wynonna’s shoulders to drop. She starts to frown.

“So make it sound good,” Curtis finishes, winking.

Wynonna grins and nods. “Oh, I will. Tears or no tears?”

Curtis laughs and shakes his head. “Go, go.” His lips press together in a thin line, and he brings his eyebrows down low over his eyes. “I can see her looking through the window,” he says without moving his mouth. “I’ll be home after I drop off Slugger, here.”

“I want to come,” Wynonna immediately demands.

Curtis shakes his head.

“But what if Nicole’s dad is mad?” Wynonna asks. “What if she needs our help?”

A feeling Nicole doesn’t recognize creeps through her body, sending goosebumps up her arm. What if her dad  _ is _ home? What if he got the message from Principal Leblanc and he came home from work and he’s sitting at the kitchen table and he’s  _ mad _ ? Something else curls around a knot in her stomach, squeezing tightly.  _ What if he doesn’t even care _ ? she thinks.

Curtis shakes his head. “She’ll be okay. Right?” He looks at her. “You’ll be okay.”

Nicole nods slowly, the tightness in her stomach easing its way into her throat and chest. 

_ What if he wants to know where I learned to punch? _ she asks herself.  _ What if he’s mad that I hit a boy? He’s always telling me I’m not supposed to be getting dirty like that.  _

Wynonna pauses with her fingers wrapped around the door handle. She looks at Nicole for a moment. “Are  _ you _ sure?”

Nicole swallows past the lump in her throat and decides to be brave. “Don’t be such a square. I’m fine.”

Wynonna keeps looking at her like she doesn’t believe Nicole, but the door to The Patch opens and the bell above the door chimes, and then Gus is knocking on the window and she has her “Bobo-did-something-wrong” face on. Wynonna sighs and slides down off the seat, standing on the sidewalk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promises Nicole.

Nicole nods, her movement jerky and broken. “Okay,” she manages.

Curtis lets her pick which Johnny Cash song she wants to hear, and she spends the car ride to her house listening to him sing “Man in Black” off-key. They pull into her driveway as "Singin' in Vietnam Talkin' Blues" starts. Curtis turns the radio off.

“Bye,” Nicole mumbles, sliding across the cab towards the driver’s door.

“Wait a minute,” Curtis says, just as she reaches for the door handle. He reaches under his seat and pulls out a small plastic bag. He takes a cassette tape out and turns it over so Nicole can read the cover.

It’s “Get The Knack” by The Knack, and Nicole’s heart flutters in her chest.

“Here,” he says, handing it to her.

Nicole tries to push the tape back into his hand. “I can’t take this.”

Curtis laughs loudly. “Of course you can.”

“I didn’t buy it.”

“It’s a  _ gift _ , girl.”

Nicole shakes her head. “It’s not polite,” she says firmly, remembering what her mom told her about gifts.

_ “Only take one if you can give one _ ,” she had said.

Curtis frowns. “I bought it for  _ you _ .”

Nicole tries to shake her head again, but Curtis pushes the cassette into her hand, closing her fingers around the cool plastic. He smiles gently at her, nodding. “For you.”

“I don’t have anything to give you,” she says miserably. 

Curtis’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out of it. He stares at her for a second, eyes narrowed in thought, before he inhales through his nose and slides across the cab towards her. He takes her hands in his, cradling them and the tape gently. 

“Listen,” he says softly. “You  _ did _ give me a gift.”

Nicole looks down at their hands and then up at him. “I did?” she asks.

Curtis nods. “You sure did, girl. You stood up for Waverly. You protected her. You saw someone - my baby girl - being made fun of, and you did something about it.” He smiles crookedly. “And from the way Principal Leblanc told it, you tried to keep Wynonna from throwing a punch, too.”

“ _ Tried _ ,” Nicole stresses. “She never listens to me.”

Curtis snorts. “Join the club, girl. I’ll be on my deathbed, and that girl won’t hear a word I’m saying.”

“Tucker has been picking on Waverly for a while,” Nicole says, defeated. “I didn’t notice.”

Curtis shrugs one shoulder. “You can’t notice everything.”

“I promise I will,” Nicole says firmly, straightening her shoulders and nodding sharply. “I won’t miss anything ever again.”

Curtis laughs softly. “Sure you will. That’s what we call ‘being human’.”

Nicole frowns. “That’s stupid.”

“It is,” Curtis agrees. “But it happens to everyone. Just like growing up.”

“I never want to grow up,” Nicole says.

Curtis looks at her for a minute. “I hope you never do.” He squeezes her hands gently. “But if it is something that happens, I know you’ll turn out to be one of the good ones.”

Nicole tips her head to the side. “How do you know that?”

Curtis smiles. “I have a feeling, that’s all.” He straightens up, sliding back across the seat and settling behind the wheel. “Alright, you go. Get on up those steps before your mom comes down here for you.”

Nicole looks out the passenger window and swallows heavily. Her mom is standing on the back steps, impatiently tapping her fingers against the railing as she nods for Nicole to come inside. 

“You think she’s going to ground me to the max?”

“I don’t know, girl,” Curtis says, shrugging a shoulder. His eyes sparkle and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Only one way to find out.”

Nicole uses two hands to open the door, sliding down out of the truck until her feet hit the pavement.

“Don’t forget your tape,” Curtis sings, sliding it across the seat.

Nicole picks it up slowly.

“And before you ask me, yes. I’m sure I want you to have it.”

Nicole closes her mouth sheepishly and tucks the tape into her front pocket. She pats it gently. “Got it.”

Curtis smiles. “I’ll swing by in the morning and pick you up before school, okay? Maybe we can convince the girls to swing by The Patch and get something to eat.”

“You’ll have to drag Wynonna out of bed,” Nicole snorts.

Curtis rolls his eyes. “Maybe we’ll get breakfast and go back for her, then.” He leans across the seat, waving a hand at Nicole’s mom. “Hey, Joan!” he calls. “I’ll bring her to school tomorrow!”

Her mom waves. “Thanks, Curtis. Come on, Nicole. Your father is almost home and I have supper in the oven.”

Curtis winks at her.

Nicole takes a deep breath and nods, closing the heavy passenger door with a  _ thud _ . 

She walks slowly across the driveway, each step feeling harder to take than the one before. She climbs the steps, her head down. She stops when she can see her mom’s white shoes, but she doesn’t look up until her mom cups a hand under her chin and lifts her head. 

“You okay, baby?” her mom asks, her fingers brushing against the bruise on Nicole’s face.

Nicole looks back over her shoulder at Curtis’s truck backing down the driveway. She touches the tape in her jeans pocket, feeling the cool plastic of the case against her fingers. “Yeah,” she says. “I think I am.”


End file.
